Today I sit by a hospital bed

Today I sit by a hospital bed.
I have done it countless times before
accompanying saints and sinners alike 

through illness, tragedy, and even death.
It's hallowed ground beside a hospital bed,
just as holy as the pulpit, fount, and table, 
here with hymn of  beeps of IV pumps, ringing of nurses' phones, and hiss of oxygen,
here with the confession of human frailty and interdependence,
here with need to help and be helped,
here somewhere between living and dying,
here in the embodiment of the hand of God through the hands of others - nurses, doctors, therapist, CNAs, phlebotomists, social workers, and the lady who mops the floor.

Today I sit by a hospital bed.
This time it's my Dad's.
He moves fluidly between mumbling in his dreams to asking me what the next step is to wrathing in pain to a quiet slumber. 
"I'm bored just lying here." 
He's been here 14 days and probably more to come.
"Ow, ah. My back hurts. I've got to move."
I try to adjust him in the bed and arrange the pillows.
"What about a sub for lunch?"
He hasn't eaten much of anything in days, but we'll try.
"When's Mom coming?"
They've been married 56 years.

My wife's bringing her soon.

Today I sit by a hospital bed
and I pray

as I have countless times before.
I pray for healing, for strength, for peace, relief from pain, for recovery, for well-being.
I pray:
Lord, help.
Lord, heal.
Lord, hold us all in your loving embrace.
May your kingdom come,
May your will be done
on earth as it is in heaven.

Today I sit by a hospital bed 

and wait.

Trusting that our only comfort in living and in dying 

is that we belong body and soul to our faithful Savior Jesus Christ.*

In whose name I pray.

In whose name I wait.

_________

This thought reflects the first question and answer of the Heidelberg Catechism:

1     Q.   What is your only comfort in life and in death?

A.  That I am not my own,^1 but belong— body and soul, in life and in death—^2 to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ.^3 He has fully paid for all my sins with his precious blood,^4 and has set me free from the tyranny of the devil.^5 He also watches over me in such a way^6 that not a hair can fall from my head without the will of my Father in heaven;^7 in fact, all things must work together for my salvation.^8 Because I belong to him, Christ, by his Holy Spirit, assures me of eternal life^9 and makes me wholeheartedly willing and ready from now on to live for him.^10

^1 1 Cor. 6:19 ^2 Rom. 14:8 ^3 1 Cor. 3:23 ^4 1 Pet. 1:18; 1 John 1:7; 2:2 ^5 1 John 3:8 ^6 John 6:39 ^7 Matt. 10:30;Luke 21:18 ^8 Rom. 8:28 ^9 2 Cor. 1:22;5:5; Eph. 1:14;Rom. 8:16 ^10 Rom. 8:14 

"What Comes Next"

The below poem moved me.
Thought I'd share it here:


"What Comes Next"   a poem by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

Love relentlessly.
—Diana Butler Bass

Love relentlessly, she said,
and I want to slip these two words
into every cell in my body, not the sound
of the words, but the truth of them,
the vital, essential need for them,
until relentless love becomes
a cytoplasmic imperative,
the basic building block for every action.
Because anger makes a body clench.
Because fear invokes cowering, shrinking, shock.
I know the impulse to run, to turn fist, to hurt back.
I know, too, the warmth of cell-deep love—
how it spreads through the body like ocean wave,
how it doesn’t erase anger and fear,
rather seeds itself somehow inside it,
so even as I contract love bids me to open
wide as a leaf that unfurls in spring
until fear is not all I feel.
Love relentlessly.
Even saying the words aloud invites
both softness and ferocity into the chest,
makes the heart throb with simultaneous
urgency and willingness. A radical pulsing
of love, pounding love, thumping love,
a rebellion of generous love,
tenacious love, a love so foundational
every step of what’s next begins
and continues as an uprising,
upwelling, ongoing, infusion
of love, tide of love, honest love.

______

The above poem shared from: https://ahundredfallingveils.com/2025/02/03/what-comes-next-2/

Rooted and flexible

 Lord,
This has been a hard year.
My brother's brain tumor, but he's still alive and remarkably strong.
Caring for both of my parents.
We are learning the dance of adult-child & parents.
Even as I write my father is in the hospital. While his death is not immanent, I sense that we are closer than ever before.

Life is changing. 
My mother noted recently:
"Just when things seem to settle, 
something tips the balance."
A farmer businessman in my first church rightly observed,
"The sole constant in life is change."

Living in a place prone to hurricanes, I've learned from the trees:
In a storm, better to be flexible, bending with the winds all the while deeply rooted, instead of being tense and fixed for that's when things break and come crashing down. 
Hurricane Hugo from my preteen years taught me that truth.

Today is still hard.
And yet I am seeking two things:
1. Rooting myself deeper
in my faith in God,
in my love for my family,
in my care for myself,
in learning to set healthy boundaries,
in asking for and accepting help.
2. Learning to be flexible by 
appreciating the moment,
practicing curiosity,
accepting differences,
choosing to respond instead of react,
learning to do ministry with instead of to others,
listening for/seeking the image of God in others and myself.

Lord,
help me be as a tree
deeply rooted and flexible
planted by streams of your living water.
May I be resilient in every season
and fruitful in the proper season,
just as you made me to be.
Amen